PILLAR'S FALL by Ben Larken

PILLAR'S FALL - The Legend of Pillar: Book One by Ben Larken

Detective Thomas Pillar had no premonitions of the day ahead. He didn’t know he was about to clash with a sadistic lunatic on Railston's only suspension bridge. In one gut-wrenching moment, Pillar was forced to make a life-or-death choice that left the entire city shaken and set a madman's plan into motion.

Now, months later, it's starting again . . .

This time, Pillar's investigating a string of rage-filled murders, and all the clues point to the most unlikely of suspects - a twelve-year-old named Seth Morrissey. The child seems nice, if a bit lonely, but something malevolent and demonic hides beneath his surface. While Pillar searches for answers, the thing inside Seth prepares for a showdown that will rip Pillar's life to shreds and pave the way the hell on earth.

As the body count rises and Pillar's marriage begins to unravel, he races against time to stop the force that's pulling all the strings. But how do you destroy the demon without killing the innocent child? This is Pillar's dilemma. This is Pillar's story. This is Pillar's Fall.

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Excerpt:

“What happened?” the lady asked, her hands shaking worse than Tom’s. “I watched you guys veer off the road.”

Tom stood up straight, his spine cracking. “There was a man,” he mumbled. His eyes widened. “That man.”

In the midst of the lines of cars stood the man in the heavy coat—no, not just a heavy coat, a trench coat. His frame shifted back and forth like a pendulum, though his eyes were fixed squarely on Tom. Wispy black hair fluttered around his shoulders. His face was long, and his complexion—dear God, his skin looked gray.

“Don’t worry,” the lady said. “I called the police already. They’ll be here soon. Why don’t you sit down and take it easy until they get here?”

The man’s eyes—bloodshot with clammy white pupils. They drilled deeper into Tom with every passing second, and he had the immediate sense that he wasn’t looking at something human. Those slimy white pupils belonged to a sea monster pulled from the darkest crevices of the ocean.

“Just a second,” Tom said, ignoring the fading dizziness. He stepped into the throng of cars, wishing Ross had shown him the photo the boy emailed to him. He had a terrifying suspicion that the image would match the man in the street. His .38 was still in its holster, but his fingers were around the grip, ready to draw. In all his years on the force, he had never gone for his gun. Yet something about this man’s crazed stare told him he was going to need it this time. The certainty of it chilled his insides.

He got in line with the man and stopped twenty feet away. For a moment, his gaze was pulled from the man’s face to his trench coat. The coat was too long on him, stretching to the ground and hiding the man’s feet. Every button was buttoned, and it looked thick on him, as if the man had several layers of clothes on underneath. Tom thought about pulling his badge, and then decided not to. He had the man’s attention already, so Tom spoke.

“Why did you step into the street?”

The man smiled, revealing a set of half-decayed yellow teeth. “Do you know how long I spent preparing the sacrifice?” he said in a gravelly voice. “Three years I prepared the sacrifice! Three years I used the serum. Three years I performed the ceremonies. Yet the Master had no use of my sacrifice. The Master had already chosen another.”

Tom pulled his badge and held it up. “I said why did you walk into the street?”

The man clicked his teeth, baring purple gums. “So what good am I now? If I cannot provide the vessel of the Master, how can I serve him?”

He’s a nut wandering the street. Tom couldn’t buy it no matter how much he wanted to. This man was calculating. Tom’s fingers tensed around his weapon, but he resisted the impulse. They weren’t alone here. People watched through their car windows. A young family with a baby in a stroller had stopped on the walking path to stare in curiosity. A man driving a fuel truck spoke into his CB, probably giving a scoop to other truckers stuck on the Flux. They were all here, all trapped for the moment on this gleaming steel bridge, and Tom didn’t want to set off a panic. But as he looked into those predatory white pupils, he realized he might not have a say in the matter. This man wanted something, and whatever he did to get it might inevitably lead to panic.

Or he might want nothing, Tom told himself. Because he’s just a wanderer. Just a mental-case wanderer.

“Who is the master?” Tom tried, hoping to take over the conversation.

The man’s eyes blazed. “The Master! The eye of the storm. The center around which all darkness orbits. The Master is almost here, and when he arrives, he’s going to kick the shit out of this world.” The man cackled. “He’s going to kick the shit out of you too, Officer Pillar.”

The gun came out of its holster and was pointed at Mr. Trench Coat in less than a second. In his periphery he noticed people ducking inside their vehicles, but he couldn’t focus on that yet. “Who are you?” Tom yelled. “How do you know my name? Were you waiting for us to drive by? Who are you?”

The man’s eyes turned skyward. His hands rose in the air, palms up. Tom noticed the inside of his wrists. Black syringe holes dotted pale skin like swarms of gnats. “How can I serve the Master now? How can I make my sacrifice worthwhile?”

“Damn it! Who are you?”

“I know!” the man cried. “I can give the sacrifice to my master’s enemy. I can give my sacrifice to the legendary Pillar. My lamb will not be wasted.”

The man’s hands dipped to his chest. “Hold it!” Tom yelled, but the man began unbuttoning his trench coat. Tom stepped forward. He was going to take this bastard down. Sirens clanged in the distance. They would be here in minutes, and they could cuff the madman and take him downtown. Tom only had to hold him until then. Keep him from doing something cra—

The man flipped open the trench coat.

Tom froze. Huddled against the man was a small boy, no more than seven. His back was to Pillar, his arms clinging to the man’s legs like a lifesaver. Large blue eyes squinted at him. Tom wasn’t focused on the boy’s face. His gaze was stuck on the row of sticks duct-taped around the boy’s midsection.

Dynamite.

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